


stay there a moment (i'm not coming down)

by kuchi



Category: South Park
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-04 18:50:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15153407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuchi/pseuds/kuchi
Summary: Kyle is half drunk, half stupid, and he can’t snap out of it. He takes everything from that kiss, all the years; wrings the truth out of every tender thing he and Stan have done for each other this evening.Takes place afterBalancing Act.





	stay there a moment (i'm not coming down)

**Author's Note:**

> Porny, sappy addendum to Balancing Act that I wrote on a long airport stop because thats just who I am. Uhh don't actually read this indulgent thing if you wanna preserve the integrity of that fic ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Kyle steps into his apartment feeling like a giddy impostor, like he's watching himself from afar, fumbling with the keys; barely just managing not to trip over the fucking doormat. This doesn't feel real.

Stan hovers only a step behind him - he can feel it without looking or touching. He steps in after Kyle, shuts the door, and smiles bashfully, leaning against it.

He touches Kyle's forearm with the pads of his fingers. Kyle's sleeves are still rolled up carefully from eating with his hands in the shitty chicken shop they had found a block from the office building. The gentle press on his bare skin is enough to jolt him into action in his heightened state, and it's only a moment until Stan is pressed against that door, Kyle's hands closed around his waist.

It feels so right, and so good to kiss him. Kyle is half drunk, half stupid, and he can't snap out of it. He takes everything from that kiss, all the years; wrings the truth out of every tender thing he and Stan have done for each other this evening.

When Stan surges forward, Kyle steps and finds his balance by his grip on Stan's shoulders. He's swaying. He didn't even drink that much. Stan's hand skims his waist and he has to steady himself, again.

So maybe the drink isn't the culprit. Stan's heartbeat is fast and urgent in his ears. He feels his way to the nearest surface he can lean on - the couch.

"Wait, I gotta pee," Stan says suddenly with a snicker, pulling away from him.

It's so mundane that it pricks the ball of tension inside Kyle - deflates a sense of unease that had been building all evening, or maybe since Stan first suggested that miraculous, disastrous plan. It sounds like something Stan would say on a normal day, leaping off Kyle's couch, yelling at him to hit pause on whatever game or movie or excruciating reality show they might have been binging that moment.

Kyle barks a laugh in surprise. " _Dude_." His brain is still catching up to being so thoroughly kissed.

Stan yanks off his shoes before running to the bathroom. It's an amusing sight.

But more than that, it's a moment for Kyle to get his shit together. He leans onto his elbows, trying to stop his mind racing.

He wonders if he's making too much of it. Or not enough? They didn't really talk about it, not in that moment. He thinks of the tentative way Stan had looked at him - the sheer admission -  _did you ever think of me like that?_

Kyle hadn't dared break the current, hadn't dared to say a single thing then that might have burst the delicate balance of their words. The anticipation had caught in his throat in the elevator on the way down from the roof. It charged through him, driving away from the party, and stayed while he was catching Stan's shy glances over their food afterwards. He rode it all the way home.

"Hey," Stan says, sitting down next to him again. His sweater is gone. He looks exactly the same as he did in the afternoon, a thousand years ago. He scratches behind his neck, eyes darting. Kyle is weirdly thrilled to detect the nervousness in his voice.

In reply, he presses a clumsy hand on Stan's knee, because frankly, he can't wait to get back to it. Stan half-laughs before leaning into him and kissing him again. His palms are sweaty when Kyle briefly presses them against his own.

It helps, knowing that he's probably feeling exactly as jumpy as Kyle is.

But if he's nervous, he doesn't show it any more. He pushes Kyle back into the couch with a hand on his chest, so intent that he's soon kneeling, knees pressed against one of Kyle's crossed legs. His hands are warm, and his mouth is firm, and God, he smells like Stan - which,  _of course_  - and Kyle is probably dying right now. It's nothing he's ever imagined Stan to really be like, and yet exactly what he knows he'd do.

Stan is - fuck, Stan is literally pulling him into his lap now, sitting back comfortably and grabbing Kyle's waist until Kyle is straddling his hips. He looks up almost with wonder.

Kyle swallows. It's not the first time Stan has given him that look this evening.

Pretending to be  _dating_  Stan is probably the most regressive thing he could have done. It's stupidly obvious in hindsight. Kyle knows that being so affectionate, so casually, is where they had always slipped over the edge. And that's basically what Stan put to use tonight. Their little charade only confirmed how it hurts more to live and breathe something just shy of _real_ than to conjure up some fanciful romance that would never happen.

He presses his cheek against Stan's. Wanting to -  _have_  him like that, quietly, in the background, made him feel more foolish in the aftermath than any far-fetched fantasy might have.

He can't resist pushing one hand into Stan's hair, relishing the way his face softens at the touch. They're on that fucking roof again - Stan's eyes are the same. They're asking him and telling him and confiding in him.

They don't need words. Not right now.

Stan sighs, no doubt from the combined feeling of Kyle's next kiss and the hands tugging in his hair. A killer combo Kyle had discovered in mere moments pressed up against that dank building, to his own thrill.

He grinds down into Stan's warm body, experimentally, and the stark awareness of what he's doing makes him shudder. Stan's hands trail down to his thighs, squeezing. It's bold. Kyle's cock strains inside his pants and he tries his damnedest not to wriggle around.

He's too fucking warm. Stan rolls his hips up, pressing them together through the layers of clothing, and Kyle feels his consciousness flutter with just how hard Stan is under him, how his lips feel on Kyle's neck. They're here, already. Everything tonight leading up to now feels like a flash, something he might have dreamt.

Stan's hands find his belt.

"Are you sure we should - ?" Kyle breathes all at once, resignedly, like it wouldn't matter to him at this point if he wasn't.

Stan kisses his mouth again in answer.

Kyle grunts and gropes blindly for the zipper, but he finds that his hands are trembling. Stan pulls his hands off, finds the zipper and undoes it. Kyle shivers off a moan. The aching, building tension where his body meets Stan's is getting harder and harder to resist.

Stan's fingers squeeze his, his brow shifting with mild concern, and Kyle realises that his own hands are still shaking. Damn it. 

"Are you nervous?" Stan asks.

Kyle has to laugh at that. He squeezes his eyes shut, because he's feeling a little delirious.

"Yeah," Stan agrees.

Kyle wishes he was a little cooler and calmer about this. Stan would certainly look the picture, if he wasn't so red in the cheeks, eyes bright. Kyle's glad he left the lights on.

But they aren't shy with each other. Kyle finds himself opening up, easing each trace of doubt with wandering hands; hesitancy lost to heavy, wet kisses. Stan hums - or maybe it's Kyle? - and he's steadfast, so lost in it that he's pliant, moving  _for_  Kyle, and he doesn't even seem to care enough to move on to something else. If this became some kind of kissing contest, Kyle could  _murder_  him, and still lose.

But because he's a fucking idiot, he pulls away instead (just to _look_ ,) breathing heavily. He gives into the impossible, self-sabotaging urge to say it: "I wanted this for so long."

He  _can't_  watch the way Stan's eyes widen at that, so he stares down at his hands in his lap. Stan only wraps his arms tighter around his waist, lips finding Kyle's face with a renewed urgency. He moves on to his jaw, and his throat, not taking care to not be sloppy about it.

Even as Kyle is blind with arousal, some kind of weight rushes out of him, an apprehension identifiable only by its sudden absence. It's a feeling he's been getting used to over the past couple of hours.

He's rocking into Stan mindlessly, legs locked around him. Stan nudges and pulls him into place, rolling his hips until they're grinding right into each other. Kyle can't help moaning into his mouth at the pressure. Somewhere in the back of his mind alarm bells are ringing, but then again, they've been ringing the whole damn night, and he's way too far gone to pay attention to them now.

Stan's hands slip over his ass to pull him even closer, before he seems to realise there's a pretty sturdy barrier of fabric between them. Then he's wringing down Kyle's pants too, hands curious and urgent when they rub Kyle's cock over his boxers. Kyle thrusts himself against his open palm.

He notes somewhere in the back of his hazy mind that Stan is still fully clothed, but the thought is ripped away when Stan starts to stroke him, long firm motions that make goosebumps bloom down Kyle's back.

Kyle sighs softly. " _Stop_  - you -"

"Why," Stan breathes, "you wanna get to know me better first?"

Kyle huffs a laugh at that, squirming, trying to lift himself up. Stan lets him go, but Kyle only ends up using this new agency to grind back onto him with a desperate kind of moan. Stan shoves an arm up under his t-shirt, digging another in back of his thigh. Kyle makes a decision in that instant - no fucking way is he letting his body leave Stan's for a single second.

And his _hands_ , fuck. They're back at it the moment that Stan realises he's not going anywhere. Kyle's not gonna make it past this couch.

"Get this off," he says roughly into Stan's ear, pulling his shirt taut. "I wanna feel your -"

But he doesn't get to finish, because at that moment Stan slips a hand inside the straining fabric. Kyle is already shaking, coming inside his boxers, Stan's hand barely halfway in there.

"Fuck," He collapses onto Stan's chest, shuddering, breathing harshly against his neck. His body feels wasted, bone tired and relieved from probably like, years of Stan-specific blue balls. The thought makes him laugh through his embarrassment, though he doesn't bother to lift his head from Stan's shoulder.

Stan holds him there, and Kyle feels him watching through a blur of lashes. Their faces are too close and Kyle's head too scrambled, for focus.

"Do me," Stan mumbles after a few moments, before Kyle has time to recover.

He sits up and looks at Stan's glazed eyes, hooded with desire. He could probably replay this forever.

He climbs off Stan, who shoves his pants and boxers down gracelessly, pulling Kyle's hands onto him.

Kyle feels instantly shy, against his deepest instinct. He can't feel his own fucking hand when Stan cups it under his own - and he's still  _right_ there, his body is hot, he's hard and restless for  _Kyle_. Kyle is struck dumb, he can't tear his eyes away. He wants to put his mouth -

"Just touch it, please," Stan moans - and apparently that's all the direction Kyle needed. He works off every twitch and every moan and every sharp breath in his ear, until Stan is grinding into his hand, shuddering into his neck. When he comes he bites his lips to hold a groan, his fingers gripping hard on Kyle's wrist.

While Stan rests, Kyle takes the opportunity to trail his fingers down to Stan's ear, his neck, along his throat; like it's his only chance to learn those places. 

Stan threads their hands together, slippery with sweat, his thumb rubbing increasingly slower strokes against Kyle's.

Kyle's chest is going to burst. No turn of the imagination could ever do something like that justice. The little details.

He winces, finally aware of how gross it actually feels inside his pants. He wipes off his hands on them, since the damage is done.

Slowly, they make their way to Kyle's bedroom. Stan barely holds a smirk while Kyle wrangles off those pants for a fresh pair of pajamas. Kyle flips him off, of course.

Stan sits down in the middle of Kyle's bed, awkward but clearly emboldened by everything they've done tonight. Everything Kyle has said. Kyle really tries not to feel like he's relinquishing whatever upper hand he had on his feelings, but it's hard not to feel nervous. Stan is fiddling with the hem of his t-shirt like he's getting ready to say something important.

For all Kyle knows, this is all on a whim for him.

He might be in it for tonight. He might want to clear things up between them, for better or for worse - or definitely worse - he might be regretting it already. It seems stupid the moment he thinks it, and yet Kyle holds his breath.

Stan says finally, "Were you ever going to tell me, even if we hadn't…?" His voice is surprisingly small.

Kyle sits on the edge of the bed. He wants to say yes, but he knows it wouldn't be exactly true. He hates that Stan can read his silence.

"You know I wouldn't care, right? I would still be your friend even if -"

Kyle picks his nails. "You _don't_ know that."

"I do," Stan says. He shakes his head and pats the bed in front of him. Kyle feels weak and dizzy from the resolve in his voice.

He swallows. He knows it's his turn. "I didn't want to lose you. I didn't wanna risk it. I just had all these nightmare scenarios in my head…" He makes himself look at Stan, "I was- I had feelings for you since… since you don't even wanna know. And I thought I got over it around college, for a long time, I really did, but tonight - when we were- I've never felt more like you-" He's babbling. He stops, looks up and shrugs with what he hopes isn't a self-deprecating smile.

Stan nods, a slow smile growing on his face. "I know."

"I didn't get over it, obviously," Kyle concludes lamely.

Stan's face is wide open for him, and Kyle is caught helplessly in that expression, gives away more than he means to. "I don't think I ever could. It's hard, when you're… like we are. I was scared of losing you," he repeats.

Stan  _must_  understand that part, at least.

Stan nods and lies down, hands behind his head. Kyle follows. It feels, precariously, like they're on the same wavelength.

"I'm not stupid," Stan says, bumping a leg against Kyle's. "I could tell something about me - something about  _us_  was bothering you today." He furrows his brows. "I actually think- maybe the same thing was bothering me, too."

Kyle leans up on his elbow, tilts his head for an explanation. Stan's face is earnest, curious, ready to elaborate on it and take it apart - it's exactly what Kyle thinks his own feelings would be, if he wasn't always closed away behind the apprehension of rejection. He tries to tamp down the feeling of awe for what's in front of him, and really listen to what Stan is about to say.

"What do you mean?"

"Just all these people thinking we're together… it's like, why the fuck aren't we? I was so - the whole time, I felt so proud of you, and proud that I was with you… like I couldn't love you more if we were _actually_ dating-" He cuts himself off. He's laughing, covering his blushing face with his hands. "Oh my god..."

Kyle is fucking freefalling.

Stan continues, "It just made me realise."

"What?"

"You're the person I love most in the whole world.” He stares down at his hands, and Kyle can’t seem to work up the nerve to really look at him anymore, either. “You know? Like I can't necessarily put a name to it, but I can't imagine anyone else doing that in my place? It just doesn't make sense."

Kyle does know. Best friend, boyfriend. It's crazy how those words he could agonize over just feel like  _words_  suddenly, with Stan so bright and real and adamant before him, in his arms. It feels immense.

Stan takes his hand again, winding their arms together. Kyle can feel his every movement. It's not long before his hands and mind wander.

Kyle makes sure they're both totally naked this time. He revels in the feel of Stan's skin, the way he sighs whenever Kyle presses their bodies together. Some things Kyle can predict - the way he blushes and fumbles with the buttons on Kyle's shirt, the way he naturally leads in contrast to Kyle's erratic movement; the constant pull to kiss and kiss and kiss. But other things he really couldn't have. The fucking  _talking_  - for someone who isn't too inclined to it normally like Kyle is; and pleasantly, as Kyle realises much later, the way he takes being in bed with a guy for the first time in stride, despite his nerves.

"I can't believe it," he says quietly into Kyle's neck, kissing all over his now sensitive skin. Kyle grips his hair hard, tugging at the short strands at the nape of his neck that make Stan groan, taking delight in it - because yeah, he can't believe it either. Stan says all other kinds of nonsense, too, things that Kyle's blurred mind don't register, and soon enough, holding their cocks together in the slippery heat, he mumbles, "I wanna come for you," - except, well, it's Kyle who comes at those words.

Kyle kneels on the mattress and presses his mouth to Stan's cock after that, to get back at him more than anything. He licks broad stripes around the head, drunk with the soft, low moans it draws out from Stan. The angle isn't good enough to do much more, probably because he didn't think to scoot far enough down between Stan's legs, and he's not as concentrated as he'd usually like to be with this, and it feels  _perfect_. Stan does come for him, hands fisted in the sheets.

Much later, when they've moved beyond sweaty and exhausted and Kyle feels his eyes struggle to stay open any longer, Stan moves in and nuzzles sleepily into his shoulder. He says under his breath, "Do you want us to be together?"

Kyle nods impishly. He has nothing to hide. Stan smiles at his dumbstruck expression and squeezes his hand. "You have to bear with me a little, okay? This is so new."

"What - of course," Kyle says. He pulls the covers over them, because he feels a little naked (and not just because he literally is). Stan huddles even closer under the sheets, his fingers tracing patterns into Kyle's waist.

They slip lower, sliding along the dip under his hip bone. Kyle coughs and tries not to twitch.

"Uh, I don't know if it's gonna be  _new_  for much longer if you keep - ah," Kyle stammers, because Stan skims over his cock suddenly. He feels it stir in his belly, though he doesn't know if he could go again right now. Stan presses firmer and bolder, with a sloppy kiss going straight for his ear.

Apparently, he can.

Stan raises his eyebrows, instantly smug. "Well, that's not my fault. Sometimes you could  _slow down_ a little for me, you know?" And like a complete asshole, he tugs softly at Kyle's hardening cock until he gasps again.

"Fuck off, dude." Kyle crosses his arms. But Stan takes that as an invitation to climb onto him and pry them apart.

"Can you tell me something?" he asks, looking gravely down at Kyle.

"What?"

He straddles Kyle's hips, taking his sweet time and getting very, _very_ comfortable, though his expression is nonchalant. Fuck him. Kyle is really, literally, going to fuck him at this rate.

Stan says, "How do I compare to your… you know," he discreetly mimes jerking off with his hand in the air. Classy.

"What the fuck, dude?" Kyle's face feels hot, and he knows he must be beet red. This is the last conversation he thought he would be having this evening.

Stan doesn't relent. He sits forward, a hand leaning next to Kyle's head. Kyle tries to think about how annoying he's being right now, and not the way his shoulders look braced like that.

"Is it better than you thought? Worse?"

Kyle is trying hard to keep his wits. He'll play along. "You asked for it, remember."

"I did, bitch."

"Way worse," he hums, turning his nose up. " _Underwhelming._ " He lifts his head and pretends to look around, clamping his mouth shut when it threatens to betray his laughter, "Where the fuck is Adam when you need him?"

Stan howls with laughter. Kyle takes the opportunity to yank off his arms and manages to flip him over. Stan lets him easily, apparently having the time of his life.

He says brazenly between giggles, "Well, if it's not too much of an inconvenience for you, can I pretend to be your boyfriend tomorrow, too?"

Kyle blinks seriously and only just refrains from rolling his eyes. "Only if you're really good at it."

"I'm gonna be," Stan says through a grin. But his eyes are softer than Kyle's ever seen. Kyle leans down for a millionth kiss, wondering how a silly, half-baked potential catastrophe of a plan could have turned out to probably be the best day of his life so far.

 


End file.
